My heart skips a beat. Her hands are still in mine, soft and warm. She’s close, and I can smell the soft, sweet floral of her perfume. My eyes, traitors that they are, fall helplessly to her full lips. She notices, the smile slipping from her face. She leans toward me ever so slightly. Almost imperceptibly, involuntarily, a flower turning toward the sun.
The door bangs open.
Zane and I break apart, and I lunge in front of her. I already have my gun in hand, cocked and aimed, when I register that the figure who’s entered the apartment isn’t one of Lebedev’s men.
“JesusChrist,” says the man desperately. The coffee in his hand has been reduced to a steaming pool on the floor. He’s tall, shabby, good-looking in a lazy, collegiate way. His raised hands are trembling. “JesusChrist.”
“Jesse,” Zane says, pushing my gun hand down. She shoots me a dagger-eyed glare and goes to him. “Hey—”
“Zane, what thefuck?” His eyes are locked on me, hands still raised. “Is that a fuckinggun?”
“This is your ex?” I ask, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice as I return the Glock to my waistband. “Interesting.”
“Nik, shut it,” Zane snaps, glaring at me over her shoulder. She quickly pulls Jesse’s hands down. “You’re fine,” she says to him soothingly. “He’s not going to do anything.”
“He has agun. Your—yourface. Zane, what’s going on? Are you being held against your will?”
I’m suddenly overcome by the urge to smack this kid upside the head. “Come on, Zane. We need to get going.”
“No,” says Jesse frantically. “No, no, no, you can’tgowith him, he has a fuckinggun, Zane. What are you doing? You’ve been gone for a week! I thought you were fuckingdead, I tried to report you missing but—”
“I wasn’t missing.” Zane speaks like she might to a crying baby. “I’m fine. Seriously. Swear. And I do have to go.”
“Is he—is he threatening you? Are you like, a hostage?” Jesse’s dark eyes leap to mine. He pales at the sight of me. “I’ll—I’ll call the cops—”
“No,” Zane says, more sharply. “No cops.”
“Is this guy, I mean, is hethreateningyou—”
“No. He’s…” Zane looks back at me. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. More believable than husband. And for whatever reason, it sends a warm pulse of possessive pleasure through my blood. I cross to Zane, sliding an arm over her shoulder and tugging her gently against me.
Jesse gawps, looking between us in sheer disbelief. “You’re dating someone already?”
“He’s actually an old friend,” Zane says, reluctantly sliding an arm around my waist. “We grew up together.”
Jesse stares at me with open horror. “Oh. I… but why thegun? And your face!”
“His line of work is… a little dangerous.” Zane gives Jesse a half-smile. “Sorry you had to find out like this. I was just coming by to pick up some stuff. I’m going to be gone for a while. And Jesse—don’t mention that I was here. OK? It’ll put me in more danger, not protect me.”
“Oh.” Jesse blinks. “Uh. God. Yeah. OK.”
“Look, I’ll be out of your hair in like, three minutes.” Zane turns, halts, then, as an afterthought, stands on her toes and presses her lips to my cheek. Then she hastily returns to her packing.
Jesse clumsily gathers a few towels and starts mopping up his coffee spill, watching me warily all the while. “Line of work, huh?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
Zane lugs her suitcase to the door, backpack over one shoulder. “See you, Jess. I’ll be in touch.”
He nods mutely, still pale, as we head out the front door.
“Oh,” I add, as I go to close it behind me, “thanks for watering the plants.”
6
Zane
